


A Little Respect

by lls_mutant



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-02
Updated: 2010-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-09 06:31:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lls_mutant/pseuds/lls_mutant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theodore Nott has no desire to be one of the crowd; he just wants to be left alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Respect

The Sorting Ceremony went exactly like Theodore Nott thought it would. Draco Malfoy was Sorted into Slytherin only seconds before he was, and the Slytherins were so excited over getting only Malfoy son that most of them barely even noticed when the small, skinny son of Xavier Nott. Which was fine enough, although Theodore felt some small regret as he looked over at the Ravenclaw table; he'd rather thought the Hat would put him there. But no matter.

At least, no matter until the very end.

Blaise Zabini wasn't someone Theodore knew well, and from the look on the newest and last Slytherin's face, he had a suspicion he didn't want to. Zabini sat down next to Malfoy, holding out his hand and shaking the proffered one in return. Theodore watched the exchange in silence, and then shrugged and turned away, focusing his attention on the feast that spread out before them and a particularly interesting slice of steak and kidney pie.

His new housemates didn't seem very promising. He knew Millicent- his father was friends with her uncle, and Theodore had never been able to come up with anything to say to her. She was a tough, tomboyish girl with a passion for Quidditch and not much else, and she'd never read a book that hadn't been forced on her. Pansy Parkinson wasn't much better. Crabbe and Goyle were too stupid to be believed, he would have rather thought they belonged in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. Ambition? Personally, Theodore thought Salazar Slytherin would be rolling in his grave if he knew that those two had been Sorted into his house. There was a quiet girl named Marie that he knew nothing about, but she was already talking to some of the second year girls. Other than that, there was no one else.

"Do you want the potatoes?"

"Excuse me?" Theodore looked up at the girl who had spoken. She was a older- probably a sixth or seventh year- with dull brown hair, brown eyes, and glasses.

"Do you want the potatoes?" she offered again. "They're getting heavy."

He took the bowl from her. "Thanks," he muttered. He noticed the Prefect's badge on her robe.

"I'm Sarah," she said as he scooped out a serving. "Sarah Burkhart."

He turned the name over in his head. "Never heard of the Burkharts."

She smirked. "You wouldn't have. I'm Muggleborn."

"Oh."

"You're Theodore Nott, right?" she asked. "Your father is Xavier Nott?"

"Yes. How did you know that?"

"I clerked for your father over the summer. Well, I brought him coffee and filed for him." She smiled. "He had your picture on his desk."

Theodore blinked. "I didn't know that."

"Why not? It's a common enough thing."

He shrugged, thinking of the cold, distant father he'd known all his life. "I'm surprised he hired you," he said, changing the subject, "if you're a Muggleborn."

"I'm also one of the top students in my class," Sarah pointed out. "So there's principle, and there's practicality."

As she spoke, Theodore noticed that a few people were eyeing her with anything ranging from dislike to outright loathing. Both Malfoy and Zabini were watching her with distaste. He was tempted to make a face at both of them, but the simple fact was they weren't worth his time, or his effort. Instead he focused his attention on Sarah. "My father said Professor McGonagall is very strict," he began.

"Strict but fair," Sarah agreed, and then she was off, talking about lessons and grading and how to get on McGonagall's good side- information that was _far_ more useful than whatever rubbish the others were discussing.

***

The first year boys' room was cozier than Theodore expected, with five beds and green linens. The bed drapes were heavy, thick velvet, and the carpet, although worn, was warm under his feet. He claimed the bed furthest away, opening his trunk and unpacking his things.

Footsteps and voices announced the arrival of the other Slytherin boys. Theodore glanced up impatiently, annoyed at the interruption.

"It's a shame, really, that Hogwarts allows such riff-raff in," Draco Malfoy was saying in his nasal voice. "I mean, I've never even heard of half the family names that were called at the Sorting."

There were immediate murmurs of agreement and approval from Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy grinned smugly, and Theodore could see the formation of an alliance right there.

"Well, everyone who was Sorted into Slytherin this year is pureblood, right?" Zabini asked. He was on the outskirts of their little group, something between a sneer and admiration on his face.

"I think so," Malfoy said, looking around the room. His eyes finally fell on Theodore. They knew each other well enough- in fact, Theodore always had the vague feeling they were meant to be playmates- but Malfoy left him with the feeling he needed to bathe for a week. "I know _we_ all are," he said.

Zabini looked over at Theodore as well. Looking at the other boy's well-cut clothing and sturdy trunk, Theodore was suddenly aware he was dressed in robes that didn't quite fit and were worn at the seams. It was irritating, because it wasn't really the sort of thing he cared about normally, which was precisely why the robes were the way they were; he'd chosen them at a second hand shop in an effort to save money. Pride stiffened his spine and he scowled back.

"Of course," Zabini said, "pureblood doesn't always mean good family."

Theodore cringed inwardly, but heard his mouth spouting off, "Yes, I agree completely. Just because a wizard- or a witch- is pureblood doesn't mean they have an ounce of loyalty."

"Or two Galleons to rub together," Zabini retorted immediately.

Theodore snorted. "Like that's supposed to bother me? Or be a secret?" He looked at the other three, who were watching the exchange with interest. "Let's get one thing clear, all right? My father is a low-level Ministry solicitor. My mother is dead. We don't have much money, I wear second hand robes, and _I don't care._ Are we clear on that? Good."

The other four boys eyed him with open mouths as if what he said was in horribly bad taste. Then Draco Malfoy shrugged and turned back to Crabbe and Goyle, speculating in a low voice about what Snape's Potions class would be like. Theodore went back to sorting his things. But when he glanced up again, he noticed Blaise Zabini watching him with malevolent eyes. Somehow, Theodore suspected this was not a good sign.

***

The next morning Theodore made his way down to breakfast to find Sarah sitting at the table, a book propped in front of her as she picked at a plate of scrambled eggs. He was a little uncertain about approaching her, but when she noticed him hovering she smiled and put the book down.

"All right, Theo?"

"All right." He sat down beside her, rather liking the way she shortened his name. No one had called him Theo in four years, at least. "What are you reading? They can't have handed out assignments yet, can they?"

"Not yet," Sarah agreed. "But it's always smart to get ahead." She glanced at the books he had in his arms. "A Galleon says you've read ahead in yours."

"Transfiguration and Charms, anyway," Theodore confirmed, pouring himself a glass of milk. "And I started History of Magic. Is it true a ghost actually teaches it?"

"One of the perils of the tenure system," Sarah joked. "In fact, I think-" she cut off abruptly, turning back to her book as someone sat down beside Theodore.

"Nott," someone drawled.

"Malfoy," Theodore said, irritated and bored.

Draco sat down beside him, completely ignoring Sarah. Before he could say anything, schedules were passed down. Malfoy looked at his and smirked. "Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. What a joke."

"To you, maybe." Theodore looked at his schedule with considerably more interest.

"Potions isn't until Friday," Draco mourned. "I'm quite looking forward to that class. Professor Snape and my father are old friends."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Of course, there are teachers that insist on favoring the unworthy." Draco snatched a piece of toast and began buttering it. "One of the fourth-years was telling me there are actually mud- Muggleborns in Slytherin House." Next to him, Theodore saw Sarah's knuckles turn white as she gripped her book. "It really ought not be allowed. I mean, they haven't grown up in our world." Behind him, Theodore saw Crabbe and Goyle nodding agreement.

"Who hasn't?" Blaise Zabini joined them at the table.

"Draco was just pontificating on his views of Muggleborns," Theodore said, amused as he watched Crabbe and Goyle try to work out what 'pontificating' meant.

"Oh." Blaise settled down pointedly. "I quite agree with you."

"You haven't even heard what Draco said," Theodore observed. "Nothing like a little sucking up, huh Zabini?"

Sarah snickered from behind her book, and Zabini glared at him. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Any _true_ Slytherin would think the same."

"I thought the defining trait of Slytherin was cunning and ambition, not the ability to act like a lemming."

"Lemming?"

Theodore rolled his eyes. "Little rodents that jump off a cliff every summer for no particular reason. Don't you know anything?"

"I know that there's something called wizarding pride, which you obviously don't have." Blaise flicked Theodore's shabby sleeve. "And you a pureblood."

"Piss off," was the best that Theodore could come up with at the moment. They stared at each other with something like malevolence.

"What amazes me," Draco said into the loaded silence, "is that Dumbledore not only allows their sort in, but allows them to be Prefects."

"It's shocking," Blaise echoed. "Who would ever listen to someone like that?"

Theodore suddenly remembered a day when he'd been seven years old, when he was walking on a wall in their garden just a month after his mother died. His mind had been somewhere else and he hadn't seen that there was a chunk of stone missing, and for a terrifying moment he'd flailed for his balance before he fell to the ground and cracked his collar bone and two ribs. He knew he was about to fall again, right now.

"I don't know," he said, looking Zabini straight in the eyes. "I'd rather listen to a Muggleborn than suck-up who doesn't even know what a lemming is."

Blood rushed to Zabini's cheeks and he pressed his lips together tightly, his eyes narrowing. Before he could get a comeback out, Theodore stood up and dropped his napkin on the table. "See you in class," he said coldly.

He walked away, knowing that instead of living with friends or even neutral parties, he was living with enemies.

***

He was right and he was wrong. Draco Malfoy had absolutely no interest in an animosity with Theodore Nott, because Harry Potter and his friends proved to be much more interesting quarry. Theodore didn't have any particular opinion about The Boy Who Lived, except a general sense of vague contempt and an annoyance at Granger, who seemed bent on getting the top marks in the year. But he did spend an uncomfortable day with itching powder in his shoes.

"Very uncreative," he muttered at Blaise, who ignored him, but Theodore spotted a flash in his eyes that confirmed everything. "I mean, itching powder? That's worthy of Crabbe and Goyle, perhaps, but a real wizard should be able to come up with something a little more complicated."

"Like what?" Blaise asked.

"Think of it yourself," Theodore taunted. "Unless you're too stupid to do so." He walked off, settling in a deserted chair near the fire, then thought better of it and decided to retreat to the library. He settled down at a table with his Transfiguration book in front of him.

"I never figured you as an activist for Muggleborn rights," a voice said.

Theodore looked up to see Sarah smiling at him. "Huh?"

"You. Telling off Malfoy and Zabini at breakfast."

"They're idiots," Theodore said with a shrug, turning a page. "I don't have time for that."

"But your father and-"

"It's not about you being Muggleborn, or them hating Muggleborns," Theodore said. "It's about me wanting to be left alone. I actually don't _care_ about Muggleborns. But I do care about not having to listen to them mock my father and my clothing and who I choose to speak to. I'll do what I bloody well please."

Sarah grinned. "You know," she said, "I have a younger brother. I'll bet I have a shirt you can borrow."

***

If there was ever a moment that was worth it, it was when Theodore took off his robes two weeks later to reveal a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and pulled a worn brown leather jacket on before walking out to enjoy the late September sunshine. Malfoy snorted, and Theodore suspected he might simply be amused by the fact Theo was breaking the dress code. But Zabini's eyes widened with shock and distaste. Theodore smirked, making a show of fiddling with the zipper of the jacket.

"Is that a bomber jacket?" a high-pitched voice asked, and Theodore spun around., feeling suddenly guilty. It was one thing to flaunt Slytherin pureblooded idiots and even Dumbledore, but the tiny Charms teacher was a different matter altogether.

"I… I think so, sir," Theodore said. The way Flitwick was watching him made him suddenly remember he was eleven and a first year, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I know it's not the dress code, sir, but a friend gave it to me and-"

"It's wonderful!" Professor Flitwick said, studying it. "I haven't seen a Muggle bomber jacket in years. The pilots used to wear them during the wars, you know. I used to have one myself."

"Sir?"

Flitwick sat down on a bench, his legs swinging and patted the spot next to him. "Oh yes," he said, glancing around and then pulling out a packet of cigarettes and lighting one. "Tell me if you see Professor Kettleburn. He's always trying to get me to quit. I enlisted in the R.A.F. during World War II."

"The R.A.F.?"

"Royal Air Force. You'll learn about it if you take Muggle studies, but I'd advise learning about it regardless. It's the fighting force the Muggles use. Well, in Britain. Of course, they don't let just anyone in and it took several Confundus charms and a few Transfigurations, but oh yes. I manned the rat traps in the planes."

"For the Muggles," Theodore said, vaguely wondering what a plane was and how that remotely related to the jacket he was wearing.

"For Britain," Flitwick corrected. "As much as we like to believe the Wizarding World is a completely separate entity from the Muggle world, we're not." Theodore privately decided he needed to research World War II to find out exactly what would make a wizard fight for Muggles, the Muggle way even. "I remember being in those traps. You couldn't see what was coming all the time and there was only a thin sheet of metal between you and the ground." He sighed happily, taking a deep drag on his cigarette.

"It sounds terrible," Theodore said, eyeing the professor skeptically.

"Of course it was terrible. All war is terrible." Flitwick grinned. "But it was still one of the most memorable years of my life."

Theodore cocked his head. "So I'm not in trouble for breaking the dress code?"

"Dear me, no! Not on the weekend!" Flitwick laughed. "It just took me back, that's all." He dropped the cigarette on the ground and then vanished it with his wand, and then pushed himself off the bench. "I'll see you in class, Mr. Nott."

"Professor Flitwick?" Theodore asked as the teacher walked away.

"Yes?"

"Did other wizards fight in World War II?"

"Not many," Professor Flitwick said. "But there were a few of us who believed it was the right thing to do."

"Oh. Was it?"

"With what we know now? Absolutely. I wish I'd served longer." And with that Flitwick disappeared into the castle.

"Subtle," Theodore said, watching the gates of Hogwarts close behind the teacher. "Really, really subtle."

***

The weeks passed by and the days fell into patterns. Theodore found himself in the library frequently, as it was one of the best places to avoid his dorm mates. He didn't mind Malfoy so much; Malfoy tended to leave him alone, unless he needed to discuss homework. Crabbe and Goyle were intolerable (stupid oafs), and Zabini was even worse.

Sarah spoke to him frequently, but the simple fact was she was a sixth year and he was a first, and there wasn't a lot of common ground. He didn't feel particularly upset about that, except that first moment at Christmas, when he climbed off the Hogwarts Express and stood looking about for his father. Then he wished Sarah was with him.

His father was waiting on the edge of the crowd, his face blank and wearing a grey robe that matched his hair. He looked older than Theodore remembered; withered and bent. Theodore walked over to him, and saw the familiar half-smile.

"Hello, Father."

"Theodore." His father extended his hand. "Welcome home."

Behind him, he heard an excited cry as the Malfoys welcomed Draco. He glanced back long enough to see Draco's pale face flushed with embarrassment and pleasure as his mother hugged him, and his father standing by, clearly proud. Near them, he saw Crabbe and Goyle being greeted by their families, every bit as enthusiastically. He hated all three of them with a sudden, intense jealousy.

It was only when he left that he caught sight of Blaise Zabini. He was standing with his mother- a tall, beautiful willowy woman who was hanging on the arm of a shorter, richly dressed blond man. Blaise and the man were eyeing each other with intense dislike. Suddenly, unbidden, Theodore felt a wave of something like sympathy. At least he wasn't the only one who probably wouldn't have a great Christmas.

***

The flat had been as dingy as ever, and cold. His father kept the thermostat set low in order to save Galleons. There was a tiny fake tree and a few presents, mainly socks and quills. His father spent most of the days at the Ministry, and Theodore was left in the flat, with no permission to go wandering to other houses and no real entertainment. He spent most of the holiday talking to the cat and reading ahead in his coursework.

As dismal as his Christmas was, however, he wasn't eager to get onto the Hogwarts Express. He wasn't in the mood to listen to Malfoy's descriptions of his numerous presents, or eat the cookies that Goyle's mum had given him for the return ride to Hogswart. Instead, he found a near deserted compartment and curled up with a book he'd taken from his father's bookshelves. The only other person in the compartment was wrapped in a cloak, the hood pulled over their head as they stared out the window. Perversely glad that someone else was miserable, Theodore put his feet on his seat and began to read.

The train had been moving for an hour when his companion finally shifted. Theodore groaned inwardly as he noticed the black hair and dark skin of Blaise Zabini. So much for peace on the trip.

Blaise didn't seem to notice he had company, however. Instead, he remained staring out the window, lost in his own thoughts. Theodore shrugged and turned back to his book.

"Oh no," he heard Blaise say about ten minutes later. "Not you."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Go find somewhere else to sit," Blaise complained. "Leave me alone."

"You're the one that started talking to me," Theodore countered, not lifting his eyes from his book. "Not the other way around. Besides, everywhere else has someone in it."

"Sit with Malfoy," Blaise suggested, and Theodore looked up in time to see him lean his head against the cold glass of the window pane. "He likes you well enough."

Theodore shrugged again. "I don't feel like it."

"Fine," Blaise said, looking out the window again. After a long silence, he said, "I don't either."

"Why not?" Theodore asked, turning a page.

"Don't want to hear about it."

"About what, Christmas at the Malfoys?"

"Carols and presents and relatives and family dinners," Zabini said, wrinkling his nose.

"Or Christmas cookies. Goyle's been flaunting them around like they're a tin of Galleons."

"Have you had one?"

"No."

"Oh. Well, he should. They are that good."

Theodore pulled his book up higher. "Even when she was alive, my Mum couldn't make Christmas cookies. They were always dry, and she used coconut. I hate coconut."

"My mother buys them from the delicacies shop on Diagon Alley," Zabini confessed. "She always gets macaroons."

"Ugh."

They looked at each other, for a moment trapped in a web of understanding over dry cookies with coconut.

"Did you get anything good for Christmas?" Theodore heard himself asking.

"No. My mother's idea of a good Christmas present is a new set of dress robes. You?"

"Socks and quills." Theodore made a face. "Not even robes."

"I really wanted a better telescope."

"I really wanted a wireless for my room."

"I had to go to these parties that my mother wanted to go to. All grown ups and age lines around the punch, and people talking about politics and work."

"I didn't go anywhere. My father went to bed by eight every night."

"Sounds boring."

"It was. Yours does too."

"Yeah." Blaise went back to looking out the window, and Theodore went back to his book. They sat in silence for the rest of the train ride.

***

"Can I ask you something?" Blaise said one day in February, throwing himself down across from Theodore.

"Sure." Theodore looked up from his Potions assignment, one eyebrow raised. They hadn't spoken since the ride back to Hogwarts after Christmas, aside from when it was absolutely necessary.

"You still wear that leather jacket," Blaise said. "Why?"

"I like it."

"I thought it was just a stunt. To annoy the rest of us."

"A bit, yeah. But I like it. Did you know Flitwick had one, once?"

Blaise shook his head. "And Blerkhart?"

"Burkhart. Sarah. What about her?"

"You still talk to her."

"Well, yes. Sometimes. She's a Prefect."

"I thought you were talking to her just to take the piss out of us, too."

"No." Theodore smirked. "But it was an advantage."

"So _are_ you a Muggleborn sympathizer?"

"You make it sound like war," Theodore said.

Blaise shrugged. "Isn't it?"

"Not really. I just do what I want to."

"Oh." Blaise considered this. "I wish…"

"You wish what?"

"Nothing." Blaise pushed up from the chair. "See you around, Nott."

"Yeah. See you."

Theodore watched him walk off to join Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy forcing a laugh as he sat down at their table. And he curled up in the chair in his leather bomber jacket and thought that he was very lucky indeed.


End file.
